I'll Be Waiting
by latessitrice
Summary: For the F Yeah Darcy Lewis "50 Reasons to Have Sex" challenge. 43 - Because he said he loves you and you're not ready to say it back yet.
**This is short and...more bittersweet than I was aiming for.**

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 **I'll Be Waiting**

Darcy saw it coming. She just had no idea how to stop it.

It was there in the way Bucky looked at her lately: soft glances from beneath his eyelashes, the way he would reach for her hand and curl his fingers around it, his thumb stroking her palm, and the myriad other ways he found any excuse to touch her.

It was in the way he would stop himself when he was about to speak, hesitating before changing the subject, teeth catching in his lower lip.

Yeah, she knew where this was going. And while there was a way to cut it off, it was too cruel, too final. She didn't want to stop being with Bucky, even if she felt guilty he was so far ahead of her. It was as if she was chasing after him, trying to catch up with his feelings, but she kept floundering, mired in her own insecurity and self-doubt.

This was not how it was meant to go.

At first it was comfort and friendship, proving to him that he wasn't as worthless, or as fearsome, as he thought he was. Then it was admitting there was a spark between them, a mutual attraction that was easier to act on than trying to date outside the Avengers' bubble. And now, now it was this.

He'd returned from a mission looking to chase that slightly-haunted expression from his eyes, and Darcy was happy to comply. He came straight to her, and while she may be stumbling after him, emotionally, it didn't mean she wasn't relieved that he was back, in one piece and still Bucky. She clung to him just as much as he clung to her, taking her to the bedroom with sweet kisses and eager touches.

It was when he pulled away, rolling them over on the bed so they lay facing each other, that his expression turned intense. She pretended not to notice, unbuckling his tactical pants with practised hands, but he captured them and tugged one up towards his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on the palm.

"Darcy," he began, and she braced herself, even while she arched her hips into him. He was already hard and she was not above distracting him, but apparently tonight he would not be diverted. He would not hesitate. "Darcy, I love you."

She watched his lips form the words, and she nodded and smiled in response. The smile, at least, was involuntary and genuine. Knowing the words were coming and hearing them was not the same thing at all, and a flash of warmth spread through her chest, like liquid happiness. But she couldn't formulate a response, not one that was even close to satisfactory. Instead, she scooted down his body, filling her mouth with more than words.

Words were beyond her. She couldn't even begin to string together how she felt when she looked at him, when he touched her, how raw she was when he was when he was away. It wasn't love, but she didn't have a name for this tentative bloom inside of her. So words were out. But affection, affection she could do.

Darcy thought she heard him sigh, and while she'd like to believe it was in pleasure, she knew it was frustration. Still, he twined his fingers in her hair, momentarily giving into the sensations she was causing. A grunt escaped him when she took him in as deep as she could, putting her gag reflex to the test, before he jerked his hips away, gentle but persistent fingers tipping her face up towards him.

"C'mere," he muttered, waiting until she shimmied back up his body to kiss her again. It had the same effect: she couldn't repeat the words back to him, and for now he wasn't waiting for them either.

It didn't take much for the kiss to become heated, not when she slung a leg over his hips, a hand grappling between them to grip and stroke where he still lay exposed against her thigh. He tugged at the hem of her t-shirt until she leaned away and allowed him to strip it off her, rebalancing their nakedness a little.

Bucky was fascinated, as always, with her chest, his mouth trailing a path down her throat while his fingers clutched at the fabric of her bra, pushing it out of the way so he could suck at the skin it revealed. It always made her laugh, his greediness, a breathless little giggle that soon dissolved into happy sighs. She unhooked the bra entirely, tossing it over his shoulder to join his long-discarded body armor, and he made happy sounds at that too.

The way he knew how to touch her, had learned how to please her, was one of the reasons she kept running after him. They fit together, and the familiarity bred comfort rather than contempt. Even the nights where he was more playful, or dared to show her how powerful he could be, she could trust in every touch he made.

He pulled her hands away abruptly, his mouth seeking her jawline, words gasped out between the scrape of teeth. "Need you."

Her jeans were shucked quickly, followed by his t-shirt, but his pants only made it as far as his knees before she pushed him over onto his back. It left her straddling him, and it only took a shift of her hips to bring them into line, so she could sink down and take him inside.

He babbled her name and she rocked forward, resting her palms on the heat of his chest, hair covering her face. His hands circled her hips, slowing her pace, even though her thighs wouldn't allow her to keep it up for long. They rarely did this for that reason: his stamina would always outpace hers, and it was easy to rely on him to give them what they both needed.

But she did her best to give him what he wanted now, moving leisurely while she admired the planes of his torso from between strands of her hair. For all that he was openly drawn to her chest-even now his flesh hand slid up and across her ribs to cup her-she was fascinated with the ridges and lines of his own. Always warmer than her, and an inexplicable shade of bronze even though he never sunbathed. She could spend years exploring the mouthwatering angles and marks on his skin, even the angry scars where flesh became metal.

She shifted, seeking a better angle, one where every circle of her hips caught at that place inside which made her tighten around him and her rhythm falter. Bucky responded by wrapping his left arm around her waist and bringing her chest down towards his. His other hand brushed the hair out of her face so he had a clear view of it. Whatever he saw there brought a momentary furrowed brow, initiated by the way she instinctively ducked away from his scrutiny. She stole a kiss to wipe it away.

The change in angle made it easier for him to thrust up, but he kept it unhurried, matching her pace until her thighs began to shake.

"I can't-" she said, dipping her face into the curve of his neck. He hummed in response.

"I'll be right behind you," he promised, his own words shaky. "Can't last long when you feel like this."

It took a few minutes more of stuttering hips, the burn in her thighs nearly eclipsing the way he felt between them, but when his fingers found and caught her clit she was gone, spiralling out into pleasure. For a few moments she was nothing but the heat in her blood, stolen breath and curled toes.

Bucky was true to his word, following soon after with jerky thrusts and her name on his lips. Her face was curled into his shoulder again, which meant his fresh profession of love was delivered straight to her ear.

She raised her head from his chest, seeking his gaze to try and offer what paltry verbal affection she could.

"Bucky…" she tried, words faltering again.

"I know," he said, pressing gentle lips to her forehead. His eyes were warm, full of that professed love and a new light of understanding. Whatever he'd observed in her face, he seemed to see her inner turmoil. "It's okay."

Darcy nodded, accepting the offered patience with gratitude. It might take her some time to catch up, but Bucky would never leave her behind.


End file.
